Pissing in the snow

There’s a lovely big snowstorm in Toronto. I say lovely because the snow makes it warmer, and not out of any love for snow – just out of extreme hate of the cold. I’ll put up pictures later, though, because it does make the city look much prettier and more interesting. Prettier and more interesting is good because I’m at a dangerously low ebb. In a staring-at-the-ceiling sort of place, as I think about what life will be like if no one ever hires me for anything. And I had a horrible dream last night about what ‘Allo ‘Allo would have been like if Sergio Leone had filmed it spaghetti Western style. Suffice to say all those “ . . . or you will be shot” turned into, well, shooting.

Although circumstances are stressful at the moment I’m tempted to think my pisser is hormonal, seasonal or chemical. Whenever I remind myself that things are actually under my control and if what I do next turns out a bit shit I can just stop doing it and do something else instead, I feel better – then I carry on with whatever task is at hand, and my mood crowds back down on me (particularly if the task at hand is looking for a better job) until I remind myself again. It’s a little frustrating.